In The King's Service. Margaret Moore

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      “With your mother, who was reputed to be the most beautiful lady of her time,” Lord Throckton added with a chuckle. “A wise and happy man.”

      Blaidd inclined his head and didn’t disagree.

      “I recall many people were shocked that Lady Liliana married a man who had been born a shepherd.”

      He didn’t speak with obvious disrespect or malice, but Blaidd’s jaw clenched regardless. He didn’t reply until he’d mastered the flash of anger such statements about his parents’ marriage always elicited. “My father was a knight when she wed him.”

      “And a very handsome fellow himself, like his son. So I suppose that you’ve come to woo my beautiful daughter?”

      “Word of the lady’s qualities have reached the court, and I am unwed. I hope you won’t hold my father’s birth against me, but will allow me the privilege of meeting her, at least.”

      “Indeed, I shall. I have a great respect for men who have risen above their station,” Lord Throckton replied with every vestige of sincerity. “So does my daughter.”

      “Then may I also have your permission to woo her if she’s willing, my lord?”

      Lord Throckton toyed with the thick gold ring on his left hand and ran a measuring glance over Blaidd’s clothes. The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly. “You haven’t asked about her dowry, Sir Blaidd.”

      “From all that I’ve heard about your daughter, Lady Laelia herself will be the true prize.”

      Lord Throckton looked pleased. “Naturally, I agree, but I don’t think it’ll trouble you to know her dowry won’t be small. Nor will it be the largest you’ve ever heard of. But I’ve had many offers from many men for Laelia, from the time she was twelve years old, and not a one of them complained about her dowry.”

      Blaidd bestowed a smile on his host. “Despite my attire, I’m not a poor man who seeks only wealth when it comes to a bride, my lord. I’m dressed thus because it’s prudent when on the road, to avoid tempting outlaws.”

      “I should warn you, Sir Blaidd, it’s not Laelia’s heart you have to win over. It’s my head. Be you knight or commoner, comely or not, and friend of the king or no, it’s me you have to impress, not her. I have refused every man who asked for her. Are you still willing to try to woo and win her?”

      Blaidd nodded. “If you are willing to allow me the opportunity, my lord.”

      “I am, and you are welcome to stay for as long as you like.” Lord Throckton put his hands on the arms of his chair and hoisted himself to his feet. “Now that we’ve reached an agreement, Sir Blaidd, the evening meal should be ready, and I am near to starving. Shall we?”

      Blaidd rose and followed the man back down to the hall, which was now crowded with tables, benches, servants and soldiers. Trev was waiting near one of the tables, and after a nod to Blaidd, the lad continued his survey of the impressive hall and bevy of servants.

      The hounds, now roused and hungry, prowled among the tables, noses aloft. Several of the men didn’t look much different, and Blaidd couldn’t blame them, for the aromas wafting out of the corridor that led to the kitchen smelled heavenly. His stomach growled in response, for his last meal had been half a loaf of bread that morning, accompanied by a drink from a stream.

      “Here is my lovely Laelia already waiting,” Lord Throckton said.

      Blaidd’s gaze followed the man’s gesture toward the dais, and then his breath caught in his throat. He had met many a beautiful woman, especially since more than one went out of their way to be introduced to him. But he had never, ever seen a woman who was as truly, absolutely beautiful as this one was. Dressed in pale blue velvet raiment, Lady Laelia was like an angelic vision, with perfect features, a graceful swanlike neck and shining blond hair cascading in curling waves over her slender shoulders. The picture was made perfect by her attitude of modesty, her head lowered as she stared at the rush-covered floor.

      “Is she not a beauty?”

      “Indeed, my lord, words fail me.”

      Lord Throckton chuckled with pride and continued through the assembly like a horse through high grass.

      Blaidd looked at the dais again—and got a second, even stronger jolt of shock that made him check his step.

      What the devil was that wench doing seated at the high table? Wasn’t she a servant? This meant she couldn’t be, and if she wasn’t, what the devil was she? What had she been doing at the gate?

      Perhaps she was a friend of Lady Laelia’s, and her interrogation of him had been her idea of a joke.

      But then why would she be seated while Lord Throckton still stood?

      The woman’s blue-eyed gaze locked on to him, and even from this distance, he could tell that she was amused by his surprise. As she continued to regard him with that mocking merriment, energy and determination fairly hummed in Blaidd’s veins. Whoever she was, and whatever she thought she was doing, she was going to rue the day she’d made Sir Blaidd Morgan feel like a fool.

      Lord Throckton reached the dais ahead of him and took the blond beauty’s hand, leading her a little forward. “This is my daughter, Lady Laelia. Laelia, this is Sir Blaidd Morgan, from the king’s court.”

      The lady didn’t raise her head or her eyes—a blessed change from being looked at as if he were a trained bear sent solely for someone’s amusement, Blaidd decided.

      He bowed low and took her right hand, as limp and cool as a fish in a basket, and brought it to his lips to kiss. “My lady, reports of your beauty don’t begin to do you justice,” he said as he straightened.

      It was an easy, unoriginal compliment. Usually he enjoyed exerting himself for a lady’s good regard, especially a beautiful one, but it must be the presence of that insolent wench that made his mind incapable of coming up with better flattery.

      “You’re most welcome to our hall,” Lady Laelia replied, raising grass-green eyes to look at him, her tone high-pitched and breathless, like a little girl’s. Or a woman trying to sound younger than she was.

      He couldn’t remember anybody ever saying how old Lady Laelia was.

      The brown-haired young woman loudly—and rudely—cleared her throat. Was she some sort of mad relative? That would explain her place, and her bizarre behavior.

      Lord Throckton’s thick gray brows lowered and he frowned as he looked at her. “Sir Blaidd, this is Rebecca. My other daughter.”

      Daughter?

      No one had ever mentioned that Lord Throckton had another daughter, perhaps because she wasn’t as beautiful as her sister, and was decidedly insolent.

      Her lack of beauty might explain her rudeness, though. Envy may have twisted her into a bitter shrew.

      “What, no compliment for me, Sir Blaidd?” Lady Rebecca asked as she tilted her head and gave him a merry smile. “Granted, I’m no match for Laelia, but aren’t all you courtiers trained in flattery? Surely you won’t disappoint me.”

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